


i won't let you go

by natodiangelo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Crying, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, eventual prompto/noctis, not really tho? youll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natodiangelo/pseuds/natodiangelo
Summary: As much as he tries to shoulder his own weight, as much as he tries to keep quiet and shove down his anxiety and his anguish, as much as he tries to stay strong, hecan’t.





	i won't let you go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earlgrey_milktea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/gifts).



> written for a request from milktea!! thank you again <3
> 
> this is basically just all angst so have fun

It’s too much.

Everything all together – the fighting and fighting and fighting, and the news about Insomnia and _all the fucking MT’s_ , sketchy people after sketchy people who will probably just hurt them in the end, nightmares that come and come and never seem to fade from his mind, images that flash behind closed eyes that he _doesn’t want to see-_

It’s too much.

Prompto’s wrist weighs a million pounds more than it should when he fights the MT’s. His whole body weighs more than it should – shoulders burdened and heart heavy and tears almost constantly at the back of his eyes, waiting. He’d be dead if it weren’t for Noctis throwing his sword past his ear, or Ignis jumping gracefully over him to wrestle the foe, or Gladio shoving them away while he waits for Prompto get his head back in the game.

It’s too much.

Night after night after sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling of the tent, or the hotel, or wherever they’re sleeping that night. He can count the hours of sleep he’s gotten in the past few days on one weak, shaky hand. He’s bone tired and has been for a while, but that doesn’t stop sleep from evading him. Whenever he closes his eyes he sees red – Ignis cut down by an MT he didn’t see; Gladio surrounded and slowly swallowed by a whole crowd; Noctis laying completely still on the ground, a puddle of his own blood flowing slowly outward.

It’s too much.

During the day, he hides his anxiety – he passes off his bouncing knees and shaky hands as him being excited, jokes around when the others notice him being jumpy or spaced out, tries to hide his crowd scanning as best he can while still giving in to the impulse. There’s no need to make the others worry about him, not when they’ve got themselves and so much more to prioritize.

_It’s too much._

As much as he tries to shoulder his own weight, as much as he tries to keep quiet and shove down his anxiety and his anguish, as much as he tries to stay strong, he _can’t._

 

Prompto doesn’t know what time it is when he finally decides he’s not going to fall asleep. He slips out of the tent as quietly as he can and sits down at the edge of the haven. The rock is cold beneath him, and he wraps his arms around himself as he looks out over the trees.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t _want_ to be here.

There’s no place for someone like _him_ next to the prince- no, King. If Noctis knew, if Ignis or Gladio knew, if _anyone_ knew they’d immediately kick him aside like the trash he is.

His eyes burn and his lip shakes but he doesn’t let the tears fall.

It hurts, knowing that if they knew who he was they’d hate him – hurts knowing they _should_ hate him, knowing that he’s the enemy. Even if, somehow, they _didn’t_ hate him, he’s still a liability. He could be a spy, waiting for a chance to kill them. He could be luring them to their death.

It hurts even more to imagine them thinking that of him. He doesn’t want to hurt them – would much rather kill himself than to let anything happen to _any_ of them. He wouldn’t hesitate to jump in front of a bullet for Noctis.

Not that he’d ever have the chance.

He needs to tell them. It’s not fair to constantly lie to them, not fair to keep them stringing him along when he doesn’t belong. Not fair to Noctis to drag out something that he knows will hurt him.

In the morning, he tells himself. In the morning he’ll tell them everything. In the morning he’ll lose the closest thing he’s ever had to a real family. But it’ll be for the better.

He starts crying at some point, but he doesn’t exactly know when. His defenses break and the fears pour out and he really can’t stop them.

He doesn’t want to leave.

“Prompto…?”

He jumps, whirling around, immediately on the defensive. When it’s just Noctis, pale, beautiful Noctis, his heart twists even worse. His first reaction is to fight, even when it’s just his friend.

He’s a _danger_ to them, now. It makes him sob even more.

“Prom, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Noctis falls to his knees beside him, hands outstretched to reach him. One falls on his shoulder and the touch is so, so gentle, and the look on his face is so, so sweet, and Prompto doesn’t know how he’s getting this when what he deserves is to be sneered at and kicked down.

“Prom, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Please calm down.”

He doesn’t even realize that he’s mumbling, a long stream of words that he can’t even distinguish from each other. He can’t bring himself to look at Noctis, can’t do anything but curl up into himself and try to stop the floods.

Because Noctis doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be sitting on the cold ground outside, trying to comfort a _thing_ that isn’t even human. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to and deceived, just because Prompto wants to be around him for just a little longer. He doesn’t deserve to have one of the enemy team’s players on his side.

“Is something wrong with me?” He gasps out, and this one must be coherent because Noctis’ face falls even further.

“What do you mean?”

“I-I want to stay by your side, even though I’m- I’m a liability.” Once he starts, he can’t stop, and it all comes out at once. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to be thrown away, but- but that’s what I deserve. So what’s wrong with me that I couldn’t just tell you? Why can’t I just accept that I don’t fit in?”

“Prom-“

“No!” He pushes Noctis hands away and stands up, taking a few wobbly steps away. “You- you don’t understand, Noct! I’m not _human!”_

He squeezes his eyes shut and readies himself for pain – Noctis telling him to leave, or putting him out of his misery just like he did with every other MT they’ve fought.

What he doesn’t expect is warm arms wrapping around him. He especially doesn’t expect to feel tears fall against his neck.

All at once, the fight goes out of him, and he lets himself melt against Noctis. Noctis sits them both down and they stay there, riding out the last of their emotions in each others arms before gradually they pull away.

“I don’t know what you meant by all that,” Noctis says, voice wet and gruff. “But I don’t care what you believe, Prom. You’re definitely worthy of being here. Of being my friend.”

“But-“

“No buts! There’s nothing you could tell me that will change my mind.”

“I’m an MT.” Prompto says, because he doesn’t want to lie anymore. Noctis’ face goes surprised, before he frowns again.

“So?”

Prompto blinks.

“I- I could be here to kill you. I could be a spy.”

“Are you?”

He blinks again.

“N-no, but-“

“Okay then.”

Noctis pulls him into another hug. As much as Prompto wants to pull away and argue, push that he’s not worth this because he _isn’t_ , Noctis arms around him feel so nice, and Noctis’ breath on his neck his so warm, and he’s so tired from crying he could probably fall asleep right there.

They’re probably going to talk about it again tomorrow morning, with Ignis and Gladio. Dread sinks in again at the idea of being put in front of them all, of having to try to defend himself when he knows what’s going to happen. Even Noct doesn’t have enough sway to change Ignis and Gladio’s minds if they decide against him.

But for now he allows himself to relax into Noctis’ hold, and tries not to think about how this is probably the last time he’ll ever be this close to someone.

 

In the morning, the talk doesn’t come.

He wakes up in a panic, nightmares clouding his mind and making him think he’s already being dragged away, taken back to that place he only knows from distant memories, dark and metallic and haunted. But when he opens his eyes he sees the dark roof of the tent, and he can hear Ignis cooking outside and Gladio talking, and beside him Noctis is watching closely, expression somewhere between sadness and concern.

Noctis leads him out to have breakfast. They all talk while they eat, except Prompto, who keeps thinking the subject will suddenly turn and he’ll be put on the spot. Ignis takes their dishes and Gladio and Noctis begin their morning training and Prompto stays glued in his chair waiting for God to shoot him down.

“Prompto, is something wrong?”

Prompto jumps, and shakes his head no. Ignis goes back to cleaning.

 

That evening, Prompto pulls Noctis aside and tries his best not to start crying again.

“Why- why haven’t you told Iggy and Gladio?” He asks, and he should try to get accustomed to Noctis showing concern because it’s written all over his face yet again as he replies.

“It’s not my place to tell them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. How they think of you isn’t going to change, so whenever you’re ready to tell them, you can.” He bites his lip for a moment before continuing. “You aren’t going to be kicked out of our group, Prompto. I need you to believe me.”

But how can he believe Noctis when everything he knows says the opposite? When he’s a threat to national security and yeah, there’s not really any authority here on the outskirts of Hammerhead that will take him away, but Noctis is the _king_ and he should know how dangerous Prompto is. He, more than anyone, should understand that.

As if reading his mind, Noctis says, “You’re not dangerous, Prompto. You’re not going to hurt us. I trust you.” Noctis holds out his hand, brings to life a spark of blue the same shade as his eyes. “I wouldn’t have given you my magic if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have asked you to join me if I didn’t.”

“People make mistakes.” Prompto ignores the way his voice cracks.

“You’re not one of them.”

Noctis reaches out a hand and gently cups Prompto’s face, smoothing his thumb along Prompto’s cheek. That’s when Prompto realizes he’s crying, and Noctis is wiping away the tears.

“Prom, it’s okay.” He pulls Prompto to him.

It’s almost scary how easily Prompto believes him. He knows it isn’t – knows that things are still wrong, that _he’s_ still wrong. But something about the sound of his voice, or the way he words it, or maybe the way it causes something suspiciously pleasant to spark to life in his chest makes him want to hold onto Noct and never let him go.

He wants to believe that his origins don’t change anything, but at the end of the day he’s still an MT and Noctis is still the king and nothing has changed.

**Author's Note:**

> i will probably continue this?? let me know what you guys think!! (i want to know im not the only one that cried lmao)


End file.
